


Falling

by runsinthefamily



Series: Purgatory [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Purgatory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 09:49:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runsinthefamily/pseuds/runsinthefamily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <img/><p>Michał Karcz, The Lair, 2010</p>
    </blockquote>





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Michał Karcz, The Lair, 2010

“Well,” says Dean. “At least it isn’t on fire.”

Cas leans his head back and looks up at the hole in the cavern wall. In the silver light from the portal, his glow is near-invisible. Dean can still feel it, though, a shivery tremble in the air. The hairs on his arm rise as Cas steps closer, a frown knitting his brows.

“There is something - I think I should investigate before we go closer.”

“I’m not exactly going to be hiking up there, Cas,” says Dean, waving a hand at the gaping, bottomless-so-far-as-he-can-tell pit that separates them from the shining exit. 

“True,” Cas says and then turns to Dean and hugs him, firmly. 

Dean huffs a little in surprise. They are pressed chest to chest, Cas’ head on his shoulder, his ruffled dark hair tickling Dean’s jaw and ear. Cas’ hands are spread on his back, warm even through the layers of cloth. The smell of him is distinctly angel, ozone and dust and something like perfume, but sharper, like ancient spices. Dean hesitates and then lifts his own arms and closes them around Cas. 

They stand there, while warmth and lightness travel along Dean’s limbs, while his heart lifts and his mind sharpens and even his breath comes easier. It is the longest they’ve held one another since that first night where they’d both thought he was dying and Cas had wrapped him up and muttered urgently in his ear to _hold on, Dean, don’t let go, don’t do this._ And they’d never done it this way, like an actual hug, like it was more than a necessary sharing of heat and whatever angel mojo Cas used to keep him kicking.

Dean lets out a shuddering sigh and drops his forehead onto Cas’ shoulder. There’s no one here to see, no one to laugh or judge or smack him in the back of the head and tell him to man up. Only Cas, who is … well, Cas. He can have this for a moment. Just for a moment.

“Dean,” says Cas, pulling away. His hands are wrapped around Dean’s biceps. “If I am going to do this, I should do it soon. We won’t be alone here forever.”

“Right,” says Dean and sways forward a little.

“Dean,” says Cas again. “Please focus.”

“Yes.” Dean shakes himself, feeling as if he’s just woken from a particularly awesome sleep. He hasn’t felt this good since - well, he can’t even remember. Before Purgatory. Before the Dick Roman bullshit. Before a lot of things. “What did you do?” he asks.

“I did nothing different,” says Cas. “I only held you and let my Grace reach out.”

“But I feel - different.” Dean bounces on the balls of his feet. 

“The difference is in you, then,” says Cas. He glances away. His wings half flare and then tuck in again, tight and restrained. “I should go.”

“Yeah,” says Dean. He looks behind them, at the dark entrance of the warren. “Limited time, and all that.”

“Yes,” says Cas. He hesitates. “I will return,” he says.

“You better,” says Dean.

“You have my word,” says Cas. His wings open, huge and shadowed, and then flare into brilliance. 

Dean has long since given up on trying to restrain the goofy smile the sight always drags out of him. “Awesome,” he says.

Cas smiles at him, spreads his wings wide, and then beats them once, powerfully. He is airborne in a wash of wind and dust. 

Dean shades his eyes and watches Cas shoot like a star across the dark expanse of the cave and blend into the glory of the portal. There is a moment where it flares brighter, reaching tongues of silver flame into the hollow black. They curl about Cas’ tiny, distant form and welcome him in.

Dean waits.

And waits.

There is no measurement of time in Purgatory other than his heartbeat and the slow encroachment of cold and lethargy through his body, but he waits what feels like an hour and is probably more like ten minutes before it becomes too long. 

“C’mon, Cas,” he mutters, shifting his hand on the hilt of his knife. 

Another minute, and then two, painfully counted out in the thump of his blood through his veins, the creep of fear through his belly. Dean steps to the edge of the crevice and looks down, trying to judge distances, to see the unknowably far bottom. Stupid to split up, stupid. Why had he let Cas go? He squints at the portal, hoping for a speck, for the familiar impossibility that is Cas, flying.

A growl echoes up the tunnel and he wheels, the fear winding instantly into hot readiness for battle. The growl trails off into high pitched shrieky laughter and he narrows his eyes. It is past time for these fuckers to have caught up to them. And, to be honest, they are probably going to be easier to deal with now that Cas isn’t here.

Lean black shadows fill the gap in the rock and Dean steps sideways, away from the edge, his knife slipping into his hand. The runes on the blade gleam red and the shadow things hiss and jostle one another, shoving and pushing not to be the first in the rush. Dean grins, sharp as a shard of glass. 

One of them screams, flexing its claws. The broken-branch remnants of leathery wings on its back rattle against each other. Then they are all in full voice, a cacophony to tear a man’s eardrums.

Dean laughs. “Come on, shitheels,” he says, spinning the knife. “Come and get some.”

They rush him. It’s ridiculously easy, without Cas to protect. They flinch from his knife, from his fists, from his gaze, even. Something about him hurts them, the same way that something about Cas makes them ferocious and bloodthirsty beyond reason. Dean rips through them like Cas rips through - well, everything else. One of them steps too close to the edge, misses its footing, and falls, howling, into the abyss.

There is a second’s pause while they all contemplate its possible fate. Then they are all trying to run, scrambling back toward the tunnel entrance, while Dean begins grabbing and throwing and kicking. Five more go over. The sixth seizes him by the shirt, its black horrible bone-fingers clutching with the strength of panic. Dean staggers, feels the rock fracture under his bootheel. 

“Fuck!” 

Falling is like a dream. He punches the thing in the face and it lets go, wailing. It tumbles away, somehow falling faster than him, and he looks up, seeing the edge of the cliff retreating, the silver glow of the portal growing tiny with distance. It doesn’t seem real. 

_Bottomless_ , he thinks, and then, _I might fall forever_ , and then the panic kicks in. 

_Castiel!_

There is a bloom of white, far above. A thunderclap reaches him several heartbeats later. There is a point of light falling toward him, gaining on him by the second. He lifts a hand, fingers spread wide.

Castiel takes his wrist, reels him in, and wraps an arm around him from behind, under his right armpit and across his chest to grip his left shoulder tight. “I have you,” Cas shouts in his ear. 

There is a second thunderclap as he snaps his wings open. His hand closes painfully tight on Dean’s shoulder, his arm becomes a bar of iron across Dean’s chest. Dean’s breath is jolted from his lungs. He closes his eyes, possessed by vertigo and deja vu so strong that he nearly weeps.

When Cas lands on the relative safety of the rock again, Dean drops to his knees. Cas goes down with him, closing his wings away, hands cupping Dean’s face, blue gaze sweeping him for injuries.

“Are you well?” Cas asks, turning Dean to face him. “Have you taken injury?”

“What took you so long?” Dean tries for flippancy but the words come out naked with relief. He is still trembling.

Cas’ fingers move along his jaw, stroke the line of his neck. “At least it wasn’t forty years this time.” 

Dean laughs once, a sound like a sob, and then scrubs at his face. “So. The portal. What’s the deal?”

“A trap,” says Cas. He looks up at it, his mouth set. “Like a pit of honey. And it nearly had me.”

“Nearly?”

“I heard your prayer,” says Cas. “It woke me from my stupor.”

Dean tightens his fingers and then realizes that he is clutching Cas by the wrists. “Good thing I fell,” he says.

“Don’t do it again,” says Cas.

“Don’t leave again,” says Dean. 

“It was a bad idea,” agrees Cas.


End file.
